


Getting Clean in Dangerous Waters

by fid_gin



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fid_gin/pseuds/fid_gin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth and Daryl take a bath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Clean in Dangerous Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Because every single fandom I write for needs a "handjob-in-the-bathtub" fic, apparently.
> 
> Set in the funeral home, but slightly different course of events.

Beth Greene believes in God. Clouds, choirs of angels, halos, the whole bit. Well...she used to, before she saw her daddy decapitated in front of her. She used to always imagine that God probably looked a lot like her dad, actually. Most girls do.

So yeah, Beth still _mostly_ believes in God. But she's pretty sure that even this God she believes-in-but-maybe-doesn't- _like_ -anymore can't offer anything in His heaven quite as exquisite as this hot water she sinks her naked body into.

Alarms set, PB&J and pigs' feet and diet soda consumed, candles burning low and that stray dog sleeping on the porch with a full belly – there really wasn't anything better to do when Daryl mumbled, almost shyly, that maybe she'd like to boil some water from the well for a bath. At first she'd almost thought for a second he meant both of them, together, and it must have shown on her face because he'd excused himself real quickly to go stalk the perimeter of the house for the fiftieth time and maybe make sure no boards had come up since the last time he'd checked not even an hour before.

So she'd boiled the water, and she'd filled the old claw-foot tub by candlelight, and now she soaks in the dim glow of it and wonders what she would do if Daryl yelled for her right now. Go streaking outside stark naked? Smiling sleepily at the thought of it, Beth closes her eyes and rests her head against her arm...

She wakes up with a shriek, staring down Daryl's crossbow.

He hadn't knocked, didn't shout to ask if she was alright – that's not how Daryl does things. He must've heard her crying out in her sleep and just come barging in to slay whatever monster that had invaded their safe haven, even if that monster was a turned Beth.

“Sorry,” she says, straightening up in the bath. “I must have nodded off.”

Daryl finally lowers his crossbow. “People die that way,” he says in his usual gruff twang of a voice. Beth almost laughs at the thought of quietly drowning in her sleep. She should _be_ so lucky.

So all that's worked out, then, and Daryl should be leaving but he's not, he's looking at her almost quizzically and it occurs to Beth that, oh yeah, she's _naked_. She should be embarrassed or mortified, but she's not – communal life at the prison broke of her those particular social taboos and besides...this is _Daryl_. If she has to be naked in front of a man, she can't think of one she'd feel safer doing so in front of.

But Daryl apparently doesn't share her unabashed comfort with this whole situation. “Sorry,” he says, shouldering his weapon and turning for the door, Very Carefully Averting His Eyes.

“ _Daryl_.” Enough seriousness in her voice that he stops and turns to face her. His eyes keep flicking down to her bare breasts, and that's okay with her. That's awesome, actually. “You want to join me?” she asks, keeping her voice light. This doesn't have to be anything, and they do both need to get clean, and she'd hate to waste water...

Yeah, right.

“No, I'm good,” he answers like there's not a wet, naked girl in front of him asking him if he'd like to join her, but you'd have to know Daryl to recognize how unsettled he sounds.

“It's okay,” Beth says. “The house is locked up, the water's warm, and to be honest...you could use it.” It's true, but she's still having a little fun with him.

Daryl half-shrugs and before she can comprehend it he strips down – he lived in the prison too, after all, and he's apparently not as uncomfortable with nudity as she imagined. Now it's Beth that's trying not to stare as he slides his body into the water in what feels, to her, like slow motion...feet, shins, knees, thighs, hips, and...

Blushing, she tears her eyes away and becomes suddenly very interested in rinsing her elbows..

“Scoot over,” he says, and she does until the spout is nearly digging between her shoulder blades as he immediately dunks his head, wetting his hair and then shaking it out of his eyes like a dog. They regard each other over the surface of the water and their nearly-entangled legs between them. Wet, naked, mostly-clean Daryl looks, Beth thinks, like one of those underwear models or a guy from a music video or something. There's something heartbreakingly innocent about him, and she realizes she really doesn't know how old he is, so she asks. “Old enough,” is all he says.

“I'm eighteen,” she volunteers. He doesn't answer. The water is cooling down and the awkward silence has gone on too long, and before she knows it she's babbling: “So have you ever taken a bath with a girl before?” 

The look on his face is exactly like when she asked if he'd been a prison guard: cautious, and a little bit insulted. “No.”

Beth realizes she's treading dangerous waters, so to speak. Everything has seemed so much easier and open between them since their night of moonshine and revelations, but he might still think that she's making fun of him, dangling things in front of him that she knows he's never had. She doesn't quite know how to explain herself without making it worse: she wants to know more about him is all, wants to know everything as a matter of fact. As she stares into the increasingly dingy water, Daryl soaps up quietly and business-like, and dunks his head again to rinse.

He tenses to stand up, and she grabs his ankle.

“Daryl,” she starts. He watches her warily. She wants to tell him that she wishes they were back in that dump they burned down, that they'd left it standing just a little while longer and gone back inside, because she's wondered since then what might have happened if they had. She'd like to tell him that the only thing keeping her sane after her dad's death is clinging tenaciously to the hope that maybe she sees something in Daryl's eyes when he looks at her that wasn't there before they fled the prison together. She wants to thank him for saving her life, so many times. But all of these words sound stupid when she rehearses them in her head, and Daryl's a man of action anyway, so Beth Greene takes action, slides her hand up Daryl's leg under the water and grabs him where he's already half-hard.

He jumps, makes as if to push her hand away. “Don't.” But she strokes the length of him...of his dick, she thinks, heat rising once again in her cheeks, and he closes his eyes. She sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows before he speaks again. “G'on.” She does, and he stops talking.

Beth has never observed a naked man up close like this before. Her first time, with Jimmy, was all fumbling in the dark behind the walker-filled barn – pressure and pain, but she never got to actually see. She saw Zach, but he was already erect when he slid into her bed and then into her body. Feeling Daryl grow stiff and hot in her hand as she strokes him, thinking that _she_ did that, is something she'll remember for the rest of her life, however long that might be.

Daryl lays back in the tub as she works him, his eyes closed, a little crease in his forehead between his eyebrows like he's concentrating really hard. She swipes her thumb over the head of his penis and he gasps; encouraged, she quickens her pace, the motion of her hand creating small waves in the tub. 

She could climb on top of him right now, she realizes. Sink down onto his cock and ride him until they both explode, but this doesn't seem like the right time for that somehow. She wants their first time, if there ever is one, to be quick and dirty, against a wall in the middle of mortal danger, because that's how Daryl makes her _feel_. This is about relaxing, about breathing for a moment. About getting clean.

His chest rises and falls, faster. “I'm gonna come,” he growls, grabbing for her hand to pull it away, but that's not happening. She's going to finish this, finish _him_ , and the water practically splashes around her hand as she speeds up even more. And he's _guiding_ her hand, even if at first he meant to pull it away, his fingers tighten painfully over hers, his face contorts and he cries out, _moans_ and it's the fucking sexiest thing she's ever heard, and then he's coming and she watches that, too.

After, they climb out and dry off and dress – the candles are practically out and they can hear growling and scratching somewhere else in the house that can only mean that the dead have found them like they always do. Daryl picks up his crossbow and then, in an unprecedented move, bends forward and kisses Beth on the lips. It's quick and almost chaste, but she knows what it means to him and what it means to her, too. “Thanks,” he stammers, not meeting her eyes.

“Any time, Mr. Dixon,” she says, teasing, pulling her knife out of her jeans, and he nods toward the bathroom door and raises his crossbow to cover her.

“You're somethin' else,” he says, and they kick their way through the door out into, what Beth can only hope will be, mortal danger. She has that first time, and one or two walls, in mind.


End file.
